If You Blink, You Might Miss It

Every morning, like clockwork, there are a few certainties I can count on. At 5 AM there is a guy who rides his bike and his dog follows along happily behind him. Monday through Friday, Betty gets in our old van to go to the college with me. The coffee is always ready because Mike makes it the night before and sets the timer. Bobo lies snoring in his kennel. These are the things that are bankable items for me. As if pre-destined these things happen with a regularity just as the sun rises in the east.
With our lives shifting, the people that I love so very much, changing in such great sweeping ways, the things I count on seem more important than ever. Being able to count on banal certainties allows for my security in a world that holds so few.
Everyone in my house is in the midst of shape shifting. Our oldest is studying for her GRE to get into a graduate school in the northeast. The oldest boy, well, he just got a job across town he hopes will become full time so he can move out. The youngest boy has figured out what to study in college, so he too can move on. Our youngest, Betty, is applying for a mission trip in another country for next year. And of course, I am still having to bear witness to the changes in Michael's job situation, where he could either end up here or in another state. Me, well, I am not changing at all, staying constant as my world swirls around me. I am continuing to grow, but I am not moving forward in the literal sense, as is the rest of my family. I am the anchor during this particular storm.
I could not help but think of one of my favorite movies that became a family favorite when the kids were little. One particular line had my full attention and is a constant reminder of the ticking clock in my family. Hook was the movie, based on the book Peter Pan. The movie back in the day, got panned, so to speak, but like so many other things, we liked it anyway, regardless of the critics review. I will tell you seeing Robin Williams in tights was worth the price of admission. In the movie there a single line where his movie wife looks at him and says ,"Peter, you are missing it." She was referring to their children's lives and the everyday existence of their family. The moment I heard that line, that single sentence in all the production of bright colors and chaos, I sat riveted to my seat. I had used that line on the children's father, way back when, telling him time and again he was missing it. I pushed the point home hard, hoping he would stop for a moment and see his children, the loves of his life, and be with them. I feared they would grow up and he would look back shocked at how time had left him behind. In the end he did miss so very many things, but before he died he took the time with his children, the priceless time to go to baseball games, coaching soccer, going out for ice cream, a simple but meaningful thing that they continue to hang onto. I had to leave him in order for it to happen, but it did happen. Whatever he has missed since his departure in 1997, he got to absorb a lifetime of happiness and impact on his children before he went. I have no real idea if my nagging, my repeatedly, exhaustive pushing for him not to miss it, meant anything. What I do know is he was there when it counted.
With so much going on around our house, a small modest abode with little room and lots of people, this clown car we live in has become somewhat animated, a living expression of all the electrical currents coming from the individuals who reside in it. I have recently found myself overwhelmed at all that is shifting around me. It has been difficult to stand still even for a moment when I am feeling as though I am rooted in quick sand. So much for security.
The question then has to become for me, with all the indecision, all the chaotic hum of activity of separation, all the fast forward motion, am I missing it?
I know the answer. The children were my whole world when they were little. I would not stop at the store without thinking how it would effect them, not a single decision could be made without looking for possible impact when they were small. I was the reigning queen of "what if?" I had to monitor our surroundings every minute of the day, because by then I was their whole world, too. But this is different. They are off doing what young people do, Mike is taking care of business and I am here but not really present, so yes, indeed I am missing it. So caught up in the emotional trappings of our current electrical buzz, I am so unsure, I am missing some very important moments. I am not an over scheduled child, I have the time. I am not so busy that I fall into bed exhausted as I once did, but now I find myself getting caught in the web of details, of minute particulate of their futures and my own. Don't get me wrong, I believe at times the Devil is in the details, but what of the time wasted on small matters when there are so many other things, joyful things, happy things, ridiculously funny things, the broader scope of comedic doings that happen everyday that I am not seeing?
I will be the first to admit I hate it when a big life lesson doubles back and kicks me squarely in my behind. I had learned to be more careful with my expenditure of time and resources. It has been me who recites my lecture series on being in the "now". And now, I am the one who is missing in action. I am the one so devoured by infinitesimal second hands sweeping past, that I have found myself one of the lost boys. It's not too late, of coarse, as long as I draw breath there is still time. Did my Christmas spirit make a triumphant return? Well, not with any real production value, but I think I found what I was looking for the past few days. I think I had lost my marbles for moment, running blindly looking at what was scattered instead of what is still and right in front of my nose.
My constants, the man on the bike with the dog, Betty getting into the van, the fresh made coffee, well it could all very well change,and probably will. But I have them now. I have all of them now. I am here now. So if you will excuse me, I have some Christmas trees to put up. You see all of my family is home this year, and I do not want to miss it.